


Harry Potter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Zemmiphobia



Category: Grimm (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gen, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Secrets, offscreen unimportant character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zemmiphobia/pseuds/Zemmiphobia
Summary: Harry is in a new world, with new friends, and a new life. It's perfectly reasonable that sometimes, it just gets a little bit too much.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 251





	Harry Potter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhisperingDarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingDarkness/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Not as Grimm as it Seems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/585857) by [WhisperingDarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingDarkness/pseuds/WhisperingDarkness). 



> A gift fic for WhisperingDarkness, based on their fic 'Not as Grimm as it Seems' which is an amazing cross-over and super fun to read.

When he opened his eyes, it was to bright sunlight and a headache. Groaning, Harry rolled over and buried his head in the pillow, pretending that it was not late morning and he hadn’t overslept. But reality waited for no man nor wizard and, after a few minutes of blissful ignorance, he swung his feet out and stumbled into the bathroom.

The man in the mirror blinked at him, pain lines wrinkling his forehead, shadows under his eyes. He looked… tired. He looked _old_. Not that anyone seemed to notice, really, he thought grumpily. Flicking on the water with a bit too much force, he washed his face, cleaned his teeth, and stomped towards the kitchen. A flick of his wand set the kettle going, another summoned a teacup.

A glance in the fridge announced that today was a shopping day. Annoyed, Harry threw the last of the bread in the toaster and reached into the cupboard for the box of cheap teabags he kept on the bottom shelf. Then he stopped, opened it, and peered inside.

… No tea, either.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply before dropping the empty box in the bin. There was tea in the store, he reminded himself. He glanced at his wand, debating on just summoning it through the window. Thought about his neighbors, decided against it, and shuffled out the door towards the bakery kitchen, still in his robe and slippers.

The bakery was deserted, door locked, and sign on closed. It was hours past his usual opening time and if any of his early-morning regulars had come by, they were long gone on their way to work. The street had nothing but tourists and a handful of cars driving lazily to somewhere more important.

Picking up the pace as his tea got closer, Harry slipped behind the counter and popped open the cupboard to pull out a fancy tea canister from the tea shop downtown. He shook it, satisfied that there was at least a bit left to rattle around. The rest of the cupboard was empty. He had been meaning to buy more, just like he had been meaning to buy groceries, but several ‘adventures’ in a row had cut down his free time this week.

Satisfied, he got to his feet and headed back towards his apartment when there was a sudden ‘bangbangbang’. Startled, he whipped his head around to look at the front door.

A woman was standing with her face against the glass in shiny trousers, a bright pink sleeveless top, and her perky blond hair up in a painfully tight bun. She looked like she was on her way to an exercise class for bored housewives and the pinched look of her mouth said she was running late. She glared at him, unhappy that he wasn’t moving, and banged again, rattling the little closed sign.

She did not look like she was going away any time soon… maybe she just needed directions.

Hopefully.

Harry sighed, tucking the tea canister into the robe’s pocket, and shuffled over to the door. Flipping the lock, he opened the door and started to open his mouth only to be pushed aside as she marched through the door. He blinked at her and forced himself to smile pleasantly.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open today.” He told her, trying to sound sincerely apologetic.

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” the woman snapped, not bothering to look at him until she as already at the counter and tapping her trainers impatiently. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been running? I came here _specifically_ because everyone says you’ve got the best coffee near the park and I’m not going home after coming _all this way_.” She turned her back on him and stared hard at his menu board.

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling, still holding the door in his robe and pajamas, stomach grumbling. Luckily for everyone, including his ‘customer’, his wand was upstairs. No curses for rude customers, he chanted as he shut the door. No curses for rude customers.

“Ma’m,” he said firmly. “We. Are. Closed. If you want coffee, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Are you deaf?” She snapped again, her accent like nails scrapping at his ears. “I _said_ I came here _specifically_ to get your coffee! What kind of business are you even running?! You should be grateful you even _have_ customers with how you treat them. Your coffee better be amazing for all this effort.” She jabbed a finger at the board. “I want a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato.”

Every word out of her mouth was like a little ice pick into his left eye, driving his headache deeper and his temper higher.

“And I want to get dressed and have breakfast,” he snapped back, dropping his customer service smile. Well, one customer lost wasn’t a big deal and he had found that bizarrely, some people in Portland seemed to _like_ shops that had a reputation for being a bit snarky. He’d make up the lost business at some point. “and I’d like you to leave, thank you.”

Her eyes went huge. “ _Excuse me??_ I want to speak to your manager.”

Harry gaped at her, torn between pointing out just what a cliché she sounded like and laughing. Wordlessly, he waved a hand at his chest. She glared at him, not moving.

He waved a little harder. “I’m in a closed shop in my pajamas?” He prompted and she looked down, staring like she was seeing him for the first time. Which, may have actually been the case.

She sniffed, sounding so much like Umbridge for a moment that Harry's hand came half up, reaching for his missing wand. “Well, whatever.” The woman grumbled, shoving him again to march back to the door. “Your customer service _sucks_ , fucking foreigners.” The door slammed behind her and silence reigned once more.

Harry quickly flipped the lock, half afraid she’d come back, and hurried to his kitchen. The kettle was whistling like a sneakerscope, half the water boiled out. There was just enough for a cup. Feeling more tired than when he had gone to bed last night, Harry dropped into a chair and stared at his cold toast and pitiful cup of tea. He didn’t even have the energy to grab his wand off the counter and warm the toast back up.

When he finished breakfast, such as it was, he threw the dishes in the sink and took a deep breath. His bed was calling fiercely from the other room and he really wanted to just crawl back under the covers and pretend today did not exist. Too bad he was an adult, Harry sighed to himself.

Feeling like he was moving through water, he got dressed, grabbed his wand and keys, and headed back outside. The bright sunshine from the morning was gone, almost as if it had timed itself to his departure. Instead, the sky was now dark with the threat of rain. He had left his umbrella inside but figured the shop was close enough that he could probably get away with it. Thankfully, the tourists had disappeared and there was no sign of the woman from earlier. Even the shop was nearly empty with only a few elderly customers wandering the aisles.

By the time his cart was full, several hours had past and his energy level was at rock-bottom. A bakery required buying in bulk and so most of it was for the apartment but there were certain things better bought in small amounts. At least half his cart was made up of fresh fruits and vegetables. Of course a statis spell was a godsend for keeping things fresh, he thought as he pulled up to the register, but he had found that even muggles could tell the difference in taste when a statis spell had been on too long. It always gave the food an odd lemony taste after a while. Nice with poppy seed muffins, less nice for everything else.

The cashier smiled at him, an older woman with grey hair and a surprisingly cheerful expression. She was also a quick scanner and Harry could feel his mood rise the quicker she moved; she was practically her own cheering charm. She gave him his total, tapping the register and politely turning it so he could see. Harry smiled at her and reached for his wallet. But his smile quickly disappeared when his fingers brushed an empty pocket.

 _Shit_.

He patted his other side, also empty. The cashier smiled sympathetically as she watched him, looking like she had seen it a million times. After a moment of frantic patting, Harry sighed and closed his eyes.

“Bad day?” She asked kindly. He nodded wordlessly, his eyes still closed. “Don’t worry, dear.” She told him, “If you like, I can hold onto them for you?”

Harry thanked her and promised to be back quickly, hurrying out the door. He had barely set one foot onto the pavement when there was a thunderclap and the heavens opened up like they were personally mocking him. Or questioning his showering habits, given the amount of water that dropped down on him. The rain was unusually heavy, which only added insult to injury, really.

And Harry…. Really wanted to set something on fire. Or break something. He’d sell his entire bakery if someone would take a time-turner and go back to tell him not to bother getting out of bed. He’d throw in his wand if they’d also knock him out for the next year.

Wet, frustrated, and head still pounding, Harry slogged his way home. The fifteen-minute walk felt like hours and each step made him feel like someone had attached weights to his feet. He stopped at an intersection, looking right, and stepped out onto the road… only to realize he had looked the wrong way.

Cursing, Harry jumped back in time for a small family car to zip past him, horn blaring loudly and sending a wave of dirty water all over his shoes. The driver made a rude gesture as he disappeared around the corner and Harry was half-tempted to wave it right back.

Reaching inside his sleeve, he wrapped his fingers around his wand handle. It would be so easy, just a quick scourgify followed by a warming charm, maybe a tiny impervius to keep off most of the rain. No one would even notice…

But even without looking up, he could sense how many Wesen were nearby. All it would take was one and his secret would be out. How fast would the news travel? A day? An hour? They would likely know before he even finished unpacking his groceries. There would be questions… arguments... looks.

It just.

Wasn’t worth the risk.

Harry sighed. Slowly, his fingers let go of the smooth wood and dropped to his side. Feeling numb from more than just the cold he went home, grabbed his wallet, got his groceries, and headed back into the rain again.

He didn’t bother to try to move quickly, his clothes were soaked anyways and nothing in the slippery, wet, plastic bags was vulnerable to water, so he trudged and trudged slowly.

Standing at the street corner again, he waited patiently for a break in the cars. Next to him was a teenager on his phone, tapping away at something bright and flashy. The kid wasn’t looking up but didn’t seem ready to step into traffic either, so Harry looked away.

Finally, the light down the road turned green and the traffic slowed enough for them to walk across. Harry stepped down off the cement, bags weighing each arm, when there was a deafening noise of metal, glass, and rubber. He had just enough time to throw his bags to the ground and roll himself and the teen out of the street before a car ploughed through the corner of a building and buried itself in the wall of another on the other side of the street.

Harry lay motionless on the sideway, his back and arm burning while the teenager started vomiting next to him. Noise, motion, people rushing closer. Half headed for the driver, half for the two pedestrians. By this point, the teenager was sobbing for his parents and Harry was staring blankly at his apples scattered among chucks of rock and glass.

What a terrible day.

They were pulling out the driver now, an elderly woman who seemed to have had a heart attack on her drive home. He could see her standing to the side, sadly watching them try to resuscitate her. She noticed him watching and turned to look at him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice wobbly.

“It’s ok,” he told her, “everything will be fine.”

“Good attitude.” Said the paramedic, dropping down to check on him. “Always good to stay positive.”

And so, Harry went home.

Holding one muddy shopping bag containing a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and small assortment of bruised fruit, a few hundred dollars lighter than he had been this morning, and ready to cast a sleeping spell so powerful, they’d bury him a glass coffin.

This would have never happened back home, his mind told him darkly as he shut the door. Home was _easy_ … no rude customers, no cars, no… no… _everything_. No America! With its stupid road rules and terrible people and frankly awful grocery stores.

He kicked his shoes off violently and marched into the bathroom, stripping off his wet and muddy clothes to glare angrily at the bruises all over his shoulder and back. No muggles! He was so sick of _pretending_ , he wanted magic back! He wanted comfort and belonging! He wanted familiar!

He… he… wanted…

He jumped into the shower and washed away the blood and dirt, barely feeling the pain when the hot water hit the raw scrapes. Every movement was violent and aggressive, slamming bottles around and shoving curtains out of the way. He stomped to the bedroom and didn’t bother to dry off before throwing himself back on his cheap, second-hand mattress and burrowing under his cheap, second-hand blanket, and suffocating himself with his cheap, not-second-hand pillow.

If there were tears in his eyes, no one was around to point it out.

He just _wanted_ and he feel asleep wanting.

-

When he woke up, it was dark.

The street was empty, no tourists, no cars, and no ghosts. The apartment was quiet as well, just the soft hum of the refrigerator over the gently rush of pipes and the tick of the wall clock.

Honestly, he felt like shit. His body ached, his eyes ached, his head ached, his nose was stuffy, and his throat burned. Even his stomach was unhappy, firmly reminding him that he had eaten nothing but toast and a cup of tea all day.

He wobbled out of bed and into his robe, heading for the kitchen. A cheese toastie and a glass of water sounded about the best he could hope for at the moment.

And then… a noise.

Harry was starting to have a bad reaction to noises. Too tired to even sigh, Harry shuffled towards the light. What was it this time, he wondered bleakly… A thief? A stray cat? A…

Blutbad, as it turned out, looking sheepishly at him from over the fridge door.

“Hey Harry,” Monroe said, quickly shutting the fridge door as he hadn’t just been putting food in it. “Uh, I guess… well, I mean, I thought you’d still be asleep. Um.” Harry looked down at his feet, where a couple more plastic bags sat and then over at the table, which was covered… with tea canisters.

Monroe followed his gaze and laughed nervously. “Ah, right, yeah. Uh, well I... some of the others, you know, _around_ , told me about the car crash and well, I thought maybe you could use some food!” He coughed. “Plus, watching someone die in front of you is really hard, so…”

Harry sighed but for once, not in exhaustion. Smiling, he stepped forward and pulled his friend into a hug.

Well, it was more of ‘falling’ into a hug, really, but Monroe didn’t seem to mind. He flailed a bit, nearly tipping them both over when he stepped on the edge of a shopping bag. But in the end, he managed to finish the gesture.

“Thanks,” Harry said hoarsely, voice sounding like a dying toad, and listened to Monroe's familiar voice as the other man explained the different groceries.

A bad day… but maybe not terrible, after all.


End file.
